


the cold, dead stars

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Bounty Hunter Gideon Nav, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Exegol (Star Wars), F/F, Force-Sensitive Harrow Nonagesimus, Gideon Nav Can't Catch A Break, Innuendo, Lesbians in Space, Post-Battle of Exegol, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: Harrow had the audacity to hire Gideon's bounty hunting services, without actually letting herdoany of the bounty hunting.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39
Collections: Crossworks 2020





	the cold, dead stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nununununu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/gifts).



"Griddle, put that thing _away,"_ Harrow hissed, trademark puckered lemon face back in action. The darksaber sang as Gideon sliced through the hot and heavy air in the Exegol Citadel. Harrow was just jealous of how sleek and, well, _dark_ the darksaber was. Harrow's lightsaber was _dull._ Some of the other Jedi had much cooler sabers and Gideon had some great design ideas - for instance, a second blade could burst from the hilt, converting the weapon into a deadly, double-ended plasma staff, bearing a passing resemblance to something she'd seen in one of her dirty magazines.

Harrow's single gold-tinged yellow blade did her complexion no favours (its light made her whole body look like a bruise), and it didn't match the sombre cultist robes she still insisted on wearing, so far, far away from the place they'd sort of called home. Curiously, her saber's kyber crystal _did_ match Gideon's eyes, but there was still no way she'd ever trade. Mandalore be damned, she'd _marry_ the darksaber, and when she died she'd be embracing it in her coffin as they blasted her into the afterlife of the cold, dead stars.

She put it away.

At least Harrow's lightsaber was at her hip, too, and so for once she wasn't a hypocrite of humongous proportions. Not that any of Harrowhark Nonagesimus' proportions could be described as humongous, Gideon thought with a snicker. Harrow glared, because under her watch any form of merriment was naturally forbidden.

"What are we looking for?"

"Things that only my _humongous_ brain could comprehend," she said curtly. _Oh, crap._ Sometimes Gideon forgot about the whole mind probing thing. She snickered again at 'probing', and Harrow pretended to ignore her, closing her eyes as she reached out with the Force or meditated or whatever it was she was doing. Maybe she was just sick of looking at tank after tank of bizarrely deformed aliens, or the fact that the fumes from the laboratory were making her eyes water, and Gideon could hardly blame her for any of that. Harrow opened her eyes again to glare at her as she was about to tap the outside of one of the cylindrical glass tanks.

"Do not touch anything."

"I bet that's not what you-"

 _"Nav."_ Harrow sighed with such exasperation that it was a wonder she didn't entirely deflate, like a sad, painted balloon. As well as the darker than black robes, she still wore the sacramental black and white paint of their (sort of) homeworld like a mask. Other than her hands, the only slithers of Harrow's skin that Gideon caught so much of a glimpse of were her ears, on the occasion that more than a few short black hairs were askew. It didn't really make much difference - she knew each peculiar point and atypical tip of Harrow's high-browed face almost as well as her own, because she'd known that face all her life.

Which was why it was _particularly_ and _cruelly_ irritating that after getting off that old rock only a year ago amongst all the chaos, Harrow had the audacity to hire _her_ bounty hunting services (without actually letting her _do_ any of the bounty hunting). It was all very Harrow, to have dragged her back after that short, sweet taste of freedom. _Harrowing,_ one might say.

"You know, if you actually let me _do my thing…"_

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise your tracking abilities transcended only your aptitude for bullshit." Harrow's face looked, if possible, even sourer than before. "Now, kindly _shut up_ and let me focus." Well, that was her told. Gideon rolled her eyes. Of course she knew about Harrow's skill in psychometry or as she liked to call it, mainly to annoy Harrow: _touchy-feely stuff._ She recalled a much younger, even scrawnier Harrow curled up on the ground when she first began experiencing visions, accompanied by migraines on a good day, and seizures on a not-quite-as-good day. Gideon tried not to think too much about the bad days. If it had been anyone other than Harrow she might have felt sorry for them, but even _Harrow_ didn't waste time feeling sorrow for Harrow.

"He's never been here," she said flatly. The Emperor Undying, the Necrolord Prime, the Kindly Prince, or whatever the fuck else anyone cared to call him, was not an easy man to track down. They'd heard whispers of _an_ undying emperor, but apparently he hadn't been _the_ Emperor Undying. He was also very, very dead, if the pale, bloated corpse peeking out from under the ruins was any indication. His eyes, somehow bright blue and sickly yellow all at once, were abhorrent.

"What about that guy?" Harrow's dark eyes narrowed.

"He's _irrelevant_." Gideon shrugged her broad shoulders, her charcoal cape slipping on one side. She left it as it was, with the knowledge it would drive Harrow fucking bonkers. Of course Harrow chose _not_ to be curious now, when Gideon was itching to know more about the old dead guy and the aliens in the blue-green goo. Maybe it was because this place was a Ninth House brand of weird and creepy. Familiar enough to Gideon to rouse her curiosity, and familiar enough to Harrow that she was convinced she knew everything worth knowing about it.

"Fine. So now what?" she asked wearily, already dreading the thought of Harrow dragging her around another secret laboratory, or abandoned witches' den, or through catacombs with living corpses packed into the dirt walls. She never took Gideon anywhere _nice._

"Ajan Kloss. Jungle moon." She briefly wondered if Harrow would ditch her facepaint for a jungle climate (she would not) or wear fewer layers (she most definitely would not). Still, a jungle moon - maybe things were looking up after all. Though Gideon still felt weird about leaving the strange tank aliens. Maybe they were just taking a nap. In a creepy occult laboratory. As you do. Yeah, that was probably it. Harrow, already halfway to the Force-elevated platform, turned around.

"Are you _coming,_ Nav?" Gideon waggled her brows, and Harrow groaned before she even said it.

"You're not _that_ good, Nonagesimus."


End file.
